


this is the only thing (i’ve ever had any faith in)

by sansuhhhsnark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, King Beyond the Wall, Post-Canon, Queen in the North, Soft Epilogue, baby starklings, idk wtf i’m doing let’s be honest, let’s pretend Jon made better decisions and still deserves this, post-s8, spoilers for S8, wildling lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 01:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18906691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansuhhhsnark/pseuds/sansuhhhsnark
Summary: The Hall hushes as Tormund Giantsbane comes forth, a huge white direwolf at his side, a slim bundle in his hands.He looks at no one except for the Queen, and she stands to receive him, quaking at the look on his face. The tears start to fall, moments before the wildling man says anything.“It’s Jon,” he tells her, dropping to his knees.Nobody sees her for three days as the Queen mourns her brother.They deserved a soft epilogue.





	this is the only thing (i’ve ever had any faith in)

The Great Hall is full of people when the great ironoak door swings open. 

The Hall hushes as Tormund Giantsbane comes forth, a huge white direwolf at his side, a slim bundle in his hands. 

He looks at no one except for the Queen, and she stands to receive him, quaking at the look on his face. The tears start to fall, moments before the wildling man says anything. 

“It’s Jon,” he tells her, dropping to his knees. He holds out the oiled-leather bundle to her, and her hands shake as she accepts it. 

She unwraps one end, and the whole hall sees the bone-white pommel of a sword, carved into a snarling direwolf. 

“He asked me to bring it to you, in the end.” 

The Queen only nods, then excuses herself from the hall, Ghost at her heels. 

She does not come down for meals as she is known to do. She is not seen about the Keep. Her Sworn Knight attends to her Queen’s tasks, allowing no word to be said against their Queen. 

The direwolf guards the closed door to the Queen’s bedchamber, baring his teeth in a silent snarl if anyone comes too close. 

A maidservant swears she doesn’t hear the sounds of weeping, but she can’t get close enough to the doors to be sure, not with Jon Snow’s wolf to keep her away. She has orders from the Queen’s Sworn Knight to leave a tray of food and drink there three times a day, so she does. She doesn’t know if the Queen eats the food or if the wolf does, but the tray is always empty when she comes to replace it. 

Nobody sees the Queen for three days as she mourns her brother. 

When the Queen finally emerges from her rooms, it’s in a pale blue gown and the kind of fervor that the Northern Court has never seen. 

The Queen draws up plans for additional glass gardens with Maester Tarly, reserved for the best nutrient dense crops to preserve for the winter. 

Repairs are started on the Broken Tower, renamed Bran’s Tower, in honor of her beloved brother who is now King in the South. 

Plans are drawn up for negotiations on trade and travel, both with the Free Folk and the South. 

If the Queen seems to show up late to breakfast more often, then the lords assume it’s because she’s busy dealing with matters of the Keep and Kingdom. If she excuses herself from the dinner service earlier than normal, they assume it’s because she’s tired from the constant demands of running the North. 

It’s the ladies who exchange glances, watching as their Queen eats meals in the Great Hall again. They see her speaking with Maester Tarly, with her ladies, and playing with children around the Keep more often. They see her walking the halls, a smile playing about her face. 

Before long, a gathering of Lords is called. 

There is a new King Beyond the Wall. As a sign of good faith, the newly crowned Jonnell Wolfsbrother will travel to Winterfell to treat with its Queen. 

The lords and ladies of the North whisper about the planned meeting of the two monarchs. 

Rumors are hatched, as they are in any court. 

By the time the newest King Beyond the Wall rides up to Winterfell, a small party following along beside him, word has spread through The North thanks to Free Folk and northerners alike. 

They say that the new Wildling King was once a Crow. They say he’s a formidable warrior. They say he lost his love in the Wars, and that he turns any woman away for love of her. 

It is generally agreed upon that an alliance should be made between the Free Folk and the people of The North. 

Preferably, through marriage. 

Everyone watches as their Queen greets this King, and if the dark eyed man reminds them of anyone familiar, they remind themselves that the Starks have had Wildling blood coursing through their veins since Bael the Bard. Dark hair and dark eyes and long faces are common in the North, even amongst the Free Folk. 

The men talk about the fermented goat’s milk his men share, and the fine furs and goods they bring as a gift. 

The women talk about how their Queen’s eyes shine when she smiles at the Wildling King, and how he touches her gently and smiles at her softly. 

They talk until the Free Folk pull out their instruments, and then there is dancing and drinking and feasting in the hall to be concerned with, so no one notices the King and Queen slip away early, except perhaps for a Lady Knight whose smile surely has nothing to do with Tormund Giantsbane’s latest tall tale. 

The North rejoices less than a week later when a formal marriage alliance is announced. 

The relationship between the Free Folk and The North deepens, first with the marriage of The Winter Queen and her Crow-Turned-King, then Alys Karstark and Magnar Thenn. 

The people take bets on who will be next, and the majority is betting on Lady Knight and the Mad Giant Wildling man. 

It’s enough for The North to talk about that no one really notices when their Queen’s heir is born a bit too early (or if they do notice, love of their Queen and her King keeps them silent). 

The babe is dark and curly haired like her father, just as the Queen had prayed for. They name her Arya, after the aunt who ended The Long Night, and she grows happy and strong and loved. 

If little Arya’s eyes are more violet than blue in some lights, no one mentions it. 

The North and its people prosper. Winters are milder now, after the end of The Others, and Winterfell has been fully restored. 

The halls are filled with the sounds of little feet. Little Princess Arya practices needlework of both varieties, much to the delight of her parents. 

Soon after there is a prince. He is kissed by fire, just like his mother. They name him Robb. 

More sons and daughters arrive, year after year. The people rejoice that their monarchs are so well suited, that their alliance was such a good match. 

The Free Folk settle beyond what’s left of The Wall or in The Gift, and the hostilities of the previous generations are worn down with every passing day. Trade has flourished. 

The Red Wolf and the White go down in the annals of history. 

Their reign is spring. Their legacy is wolves.

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s just pretend for a moment that Jon Snow finally learned something and stopped being a complete idiot in S8. 
> 
> These babies need all the love they can get. 
> 
> Consider this one of my contributions to the Jonsa-Fic Renaissance we’re currently in the midst of. 
> 
> This fic was typed up quick and posted with minimal editing, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Happy reading!


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